


witchery of the finite

by Elisye



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: F/M, M/M, but there are a few spoilers from all over the game anyway lol, dial the void for help with your procrastination, slight AU for the end of ch1 and beginning of ch2 btw, you can read this as saiouma too but lmao sorry saimatsu's driving this car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: Guilt and failure haunts you.(Ouma rolls his eyes as he plays with his piece. "Please. Beatmyrecord for guilt and failure before you say anything, Saihara.")





	

**Author's Note:**

> i never thought id write more witch!ouma stuff but GUESS W H AT
> 
> takes place post-ch1 but before ch2. i kiiiinda couldn't remember what happens around this time in-game so in case you guys spot some blatant logic errors, well........................ im gonna just excuse it as AU shenanigans owo;;;;

 

You're twiddling your fingers when the intercom rings.

Naturally, you go to the door, expecting no one (Kaede) and find, indeed, no one.

It's puzzling, but not so much as the future with a time limit imposed on it.

 

 

 

"Did you come by my room earlier?"

Akamatsu looks up from her work and shakes her head. "No. Why?"

"Just... wondering, really." You manage to keep the frown to yourself, and focus on the task at hand. The dust clogged between the stitched-spine books isn't really helping with that, but it's a good excuse if it needs to be.

 

 

 

Murder is the last thing you want.

Isn't that amusing, as a detective? 

Sure, it's not a role you particularly desired, but it's a role that still holds a sense of appeal. Inspiration. Ambition. Things you wish you had, to overcome the quaking fog of hesitance that suffocates your hopes. You're not a real detective, after all. Not quite play-pretend either, though it feels a lot like it.

Seems like this is where you'll genuinely make it or break it - there's a murder to solve.

 

 

(As everyone spills out of the room in twos and threes, you crane your head towards the air vent. Maybe it's just your eyes, but you thought you saw someone sitting up there—)

 

 

 

 

She sways.

Like a pendulum, like the tick of an old grandfather clock.

Now that you think of it, didn't your uncle actually have one of those? An old family heirloom of sorts, a leftover treasure that sits behind your uncle's desk and greets each and every client with a smileless wave. You used to try fiddling with its internal mechanisms and earned your uncle's immense disapproval whenever you did so - it was a fragile thing, considering its age.

Thankfully, you grew out of the habit. The scorch marks and rusted bits of the metal eventually grew conspicuous.

As people mechanically turn away from the sight, you continue to stare, counting the seconds, waiting for the day to end - as you used to, with that clock.

 

 

Akamatsu is dead, and just like before, you're free to pretend that you can move on from the results, like any good level-headed detective.

But you're not a real detective, so of course _you can't do that._

 

 

 

 

"Hey, what do you think your role is?"

"...I don't..."

He gives you a kind look. Leaning forward, elbows on the white garden table, he murmurs - "You're a detective. You're supposed to find the human culprit. _My opponent._ "

You absently stare at the floating tea cup, watching it being filled with a new round of chamomile and rose hip.

There's a sigh, at some point. It sounds disappointed. "...Are you going to let the rest of Akamatsu die with you?"

"-W- What—"

 

 

 

You toss and turn in your bed and think, somewhere in the dark - a flash of violet words and checkered silk.

 

 

 

In the morning, there's not a single thing out of place.

The hollow space in your chest, however, has grown a bit.

 

 

 

Ouma passes by as you make your way to the cafeteria with sluggish feet.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he comments with a plain tone. You're not sure what to respond with - instead, you continue to stare down at your cap. You've been holding it in one hand for a while now. Ever so badly, you'd like to put it on, because it's just so comfortable that way. But—to not look, to not look, it's also just _wrong_ now.

What are you supposed to—

"Hey." Ouma steps as close as possible into your field of vision, forcing you to meet his gaze as you step back a bit. "Humor me."

"...Now isn't the time for that." You bristle. The trial was just _yesterday._

"Answer me this," he continues with complete disregard, "—In the past, what did people think when they couldn't explain something?"

A frown slowly blooms across your face. "In the past? They would usually leave the matter be, or explain it as something supernatural - probably."

"That's right!" The boy takes one giant step right into your personal space. He's grinning so widely, it looks scarily bizarre even for him - like a sharp spin of a roulette, made ten steps ahead of the narrative. "In a mystery, if the detective can't find the culprit - everyone will just think that it's an impossible crime. Is that something acceptable? Do you accept that, Saihara? An impossible crime by a person who you can't believe is possibly the culprit?"

You don't dare consider what he might be alluding to. "...As a detective..." 

— _no._ As a detective, you shouldn't accept excuses. 

But that doesn't mean you want to just _do that_ either.

You stare back down at your cap. The dilemma remains. When you look back up, Ouma's long gone.

 

 

 

At night, you dream of Akamatsu's tearful goodbye.

Her despair.

 

 

 

"Humor me."

Looking at the person on the other side of the table, you think you've been through this before.

"In a mystery, if you can't find the culprit among your suspects... Wouldn't you instantly think that the true culprit is some impossible, unknown person?"

He pauses to snap his fingers, causing the tea pot to vanish. The table cloth - white and lace-trimmed - is a misfitting match to the black cups left to cool on the table. "Ahh, now, not to say that this true culprit is possibly someone outside of the known suspects - no, it's not anyone left in this world. Not human, to say the least."

Your mind is perfectly blank as you pick up your tea cup. You mindlessly note the curved handle - it's decorated with smooth red stone set in steel.

"That, my dear Saihara, is what an unsolvable mystery is." He smirks, his head over his entwined fingers. "It's not even a mystery anymore. It's fantasy. A dream."

 

 

"So here's my point - is this all a dream? And if so, tell me... What's ultimately more important? Dreams and what ifs - or reality, where there are still people depending on you?"

 

 

 

 

You've taken to carrying around your cap like a prop.

Neither wearing it or not wearing it.

You struggle with the decision - to do what you must, or do what is right?

What does either even entail?

It's something you end up contemplating on more and more these days. You wander the school grounds like a lost lamb, searching for a shepherd - there is none to be found, inside this rotting birdcage.

At some point, you find yourself entering the judgment hall. Bitterness dots your tongue as you berate your own unconsciousness - why come back? The answer is surprising, simply for existing at all. You wanted to come here. Not to stare at that unnecessary statue or the thin outlines of the elevator doors behind the waterfall fountain. Certainly not here to try breaking into the trial room and wondering, perhaps miraculously, if Akamatsu's corpse is alive and well and just trapped down there.

(The witch of miracles isn't blessing this gameboard, so says a half-familiar voice in your head, so you won't have that comfort, Saihara.)

You sigh at the sheer nonsense of your feelings. And your thoughts - they're making even less sense than your feelings.

At least you can decipher your heart - it's rattling, hoping, speculating. You're not sure how you might feel, if another murder occurs (and you hate yourself for that, for already assuming with some vague acceptance that another murder is possible). On that second return to the trial room... will she still be there, somewhere? Or will she disappear completely, with every speck of blood cleaned up and the remains of her corpse burned to use as monochrome paint for her funeral portrait?

It's a macabre thought, and not one you want to entertain in the least.

(Then entertain everyone's freedom, the voice mumbles as you walk right out.)

 

  

 

You dream of Kaede's tearful smile.

Her hope.

 

 

 

"You know, I always wondered what I could have done better."

He quietly plays with his cuffs.

"What could I have done to prevent Iruma from doing that? Or Harukawa? Even Shirogane, maybe. All of the murders have their trigger points, you see - it's not incredibly apparent, but when you look over a thousand similar gameboards, you tend to notice trends eventually, right?"

Silence.

He looks outside a window. You can only see fog, but something else reflects in his eyes. It's brighter than the color white, writhing and choking, somewhere lost in his vision. Understanding eludes you from a lack of details, but you think, just barely, you recognize it as—

"There are fragments where I actually _live._ "

 

 

(He sounds so amazed - and that's the only miracle that can be grown here. The right to live.)

 

 

Life is a beautiful blossom, but it only just hits you then and there.

 

 

 

As you watch the morning sun, rising pink and red over the jagged horizon, you think you see the wings of a bird casting feathers down from heaven.

Likely not, however.

But if heaven exists at all, you rest somewhat reassured - she should be somewhere up there, at least on a lower tier of the clouds. It doesn't strike you as odd, though perhaps very whimsical, to think she might become an angel. Without doubt, she had pure intentions. She was far from being the devil at least, in your opinion.

It's a comforting thing - to think she's still here, still guiding you, watching over you.

 

 

 

Sunset shines ethereal through the window bars.

Her hand rests gently over yours, clasped with the lightest of grips. You splutter a bit at the contact, feeling the initial flush only burning redder as Akamatsu giggles and gives a fond smile.

Things remain like that, for a few precious moments. Her eyes slowly fall to her lap, as she makes a small habit of grazing your nails with her fingers. You can tell, despite the sweet kindness that lingers on her face, that there are a mountain of thoughts running through her head right now. You don't blame her - aside from this personally embarrassing situation, your exposure gambit has far too many cracks and a weight too heavy to keep carrying for long.

"...Hey, Saihara."

You can't help but blink a lot. "Y-Yeah?"

She holds that quiet for seconds longer than necessary. Her idle habit seems much too conspicuous, suddenly. "I... want to tell you something. Just—" She bites her lip. You can already understand what she intended to say - _just in case this doesn't work out._ "You know, to be honest - you're really reliable."

Her other hand waves itself to agree, to reassure, as you edge away a bit - you haven't done anything worthwhile yet here, really— "Really, I mean it! I mean, you're the one who came up with this whole plan - you even figured out that there's a mastermind among us to begin with. To tell the truth, I was almost ready to just give up. I know, it's not like me to give up at all! And I don't want to, definitely not now! But, I just couldn't see any real way out of this. To murder is to give in. But if no murders occur, we would all die anyway. And that's just— it's just— nothing about this is _forgivable_ \- if you get what I mean?"

Akamatsu takes a deep, deep breath. A pause. You match with lilac eyes that braid smiles along their crinkling corners. "What I really mean to say is this, I guess - you're amazing. Incredibly. You don't understand just how much you've picked me up, really."

She rests her hand over her heart, smiling wider, serenely. The sun dips just a centimeter more to cast a radiant glow through the glass - it frames her hair like a halo, turns her musical hairpins into gold and amber-hued copper. It seems all too perfect. You swear your own heart might have skipped a beat.

"Saihara... I think, at least just a little... I might have fallen for you, a bit."

It's really just too perfect.

And that's how you know, like the click of a puzzle piece into the last empty gap.

It takes a moment, but you manage to smile back - something small, but natural. You allow yourself one last memory, a sweet trick, and squeeze her hand for a second, remembering her warmth. "Thank you, Kaede. Those words mean a lot to me."

Her eyes flutter in their own turn of embarrassment. That's understandable - you never used her first name with her. You doubt you'll have another chance to do so, confidently and happily.

Which is why, really, you have to do this. Dreams are pleasant, but they will never compare to the real deal. "—I share your feelings as well. So much that I don't think it's a matter of might be or might not be anymore. It probably started out as just a ridiculous attempt to impress you - but, that's not really the case anymore. It's become real, even though it was so shallow at first..."

"Saihara..."

You breathe, and steel yourself. "That's why, I can't accept this. This—is too shallow for my feelings. Please, let me see the truth."

She stares and stares, wide-eyed - and smiles, and moves away forever.

 

 

 

Nothing can be a substitute for reality.

It's a cold and hard truth.

But the pain of pretense is an even harder thing to deal with. You think, you finally understand your lesson here.

 

 

 

 

"Congratulations," Ouma says, wryly, before coughing roughly into one hand. Violet words twirl into the air, shimmering and breaking apart within seconds. "You finally managed to bring your anti-magic toxins to the average level. I was starting to worry, you know—"

Another round of coughing. Although his palm stays quite well out of sight, it doesn't stop the blood from slowly, slowly, trickling down onto the marble tiles. You don't know if that's what prompts you to immediately walk to his side, hands awkwardly reaching out, trying to find a way to stop the blood and help him somehow. (It could just as easily be the momentary fog in your head that came and went with its whole story and epiphany, made of a thousand different voices simply telling you to _move,_ or else this scene might end up all too similar to the scenario with the press—though of course, considering its fleeting nature, all you're truly left with for a reason is merely apprehension yelling itself loud and clear.)

He shudders violently, feebly but persistently pushing himself away from you with his free hand, though his motions make it look as if he's burning himself with an open flame. Bravado keeps a smile on his face, but it's smudged with a pained urge to make a grimace. "N- Now that you're acting like a proper human detective... It's best if we keep a distance. Physically and professionally." The smile becomes just the slightest bit more true. Feral and strong, almost proud - but it's gone with a blink as he shakily gets to his feet, idly wiping away the droplets and smears of blood clinging to his lips.

"I'm the Witch of Lies, after all. Get too close, and you'll get trapped in my web. We can't have that now, right, _detective?_ "

 

 

 

 

(A whisper - will you let her hopes and wishes die with you and everyone else?)

You don't answer it. You could have imagined it.

 

 

It doesn't stop you from taking one good look at your hat, and putting it in the back of your closet.

 

 

 

The witch smiles and departs from the fragment.

 


End file.
